


Berth Arrest

by primalvanguard



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Late Nights, M/M, Multi, Sleepy Cuddles, completely self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-02-28 21:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18764518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primalvanguard/pseuds/primalvanguard
Summary: Ratchet needs to be wrangled into berth at times— not that he minds too much.





	Berth Arrest

“You said ‘one more hour’ _three hours ago,_ Ratty.”

Ratchet, by way of reply, only tossed his conjunx a scowl over his shoulder before turning back to the stack of datapads that towered over him at their desk.

Drift was laying splayed out on his back in their shared berth, a dozing Rodimus curled up against his side comfortably with his arm slung around the other mech’s waist. The Prime had his optics shuttered, but much like Ratchet, he too refused to let recharge claim him. Not until their medic joined them.

“No, I said I’d come when I was done,” Ratchet’s fingers resumed their incessant tap-tapping at the datapad. The report he pulled up on it mere moments ago cast a soothing blue glow over their darkened habsuite and illuminated his faceplates— worn down by age, war and countless nights much like this, when he’d lose himself in paperwork until he inevitably passed out in his seat and awoke the next morning with a sore neck and stiff joints.

Although he’d long since been gifted with the presence of his doting conjunx (and in recent developments, not just one, but _two_ ) who were there to keep a close eye on him, to pry him away from his work when even he could tell his productivity was stagnating, it seemed it was an old habit he had yet to retire.

By this hour his optics felt as though they were on the verge of combusting in their sockets— and they probably looked the part, too, but the medic persisted against his better judgement.

_Just a few more reports and he’d be done._

Letting his matrix-blue optics slide open, Rodimus peered at the medibot with a yawn. “Please come to berth, Ratch? You’ve been going at it non-stop all day,” he rested his chin atop Drift’s shoulder and let his lower lip jut forward in a convincing pout. Drift’s fingers were working themselves in a sleepy pattern on his spoiler, all the while rubbing small, absent-minded circles into the yellow expanse.

“First Aid was unwell and it’s my duty to cover for him,” Ratchet only grumbled, his servo moving up to scrub at his faceplates. The doctor could feel the weight of exhaustion starting to drag him under, though he refused to so much as acknowledge it, as if it would simply vanish if he didn’t pay it any mind. “These reports certainly aren’t going to finish themselves.”

“You don’t have to do them until tomorrow,” Rodimus leaned over Drift’s form to pat the empty spot on the berth next to them enticingly and shot him a lethargic attempt at his trademark grin. “My word as captain.”

“ _Co-_ captain,” Ratchet dutifully reminded him, his gaze never leaving the report clutched in his servos. He grunted as he twisted in his seat, trying in vain to relieve himself of the growing tension in his back before reposing it against the chair. An amused smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth when the red mech groaned in protest.

“C’mon, Ratcheeeet…”

The doctor almost dropped the pad onto the desktop in exasperation. “It’s only going to take me longer if you _keep bothering me_ ,” he punctuated each word with sharp taps to the pad’s keys, grinding his denta together to prevent a yawn from overtaking him and subsequently blowing his cover. Try as he might, he couldn’t deny that the notion of turning in for the night and sinking his weary frame into the plushness of their berth was growing ever more tempting...

He nearly leapt out of his plating when Drift’s deft fingers found his, peeling them from the wretched datapad tightly wound in his grasp. “You’ve worked long enough, Ratty, you need your rest,” The swordsmech’s gentle chastising rang in his audials as he grabbed his newly unoccupied servos in his.

“I have to finish— _”_

Drift only shushed him, heaving him off of the chair and all but dragging them both in the direction of the awaiting berth. Ratchet couldn’t be bothered with masking the sway in his step. His footfalls came heavy, echoing throughout their shared quarters. Burnt out. Exhausted.

Even with his processor halfway in recharge, Rodimus was quick to shift out of the way, allowing Ratchet room to settle on the berth’s padding before taking his usual spot up against his chest. He placed a chaste kiss to Ratchet’s chin, letting his optics slide themselves shut when he felt his much bulkier arm come to rest over his back struts. From behind, Drift draped himself over the medic’s back, nestling his face into his tensed neck cables with a sigh. Ratchet could feel him smile against them as his arm found its way around the medibot’s broad waist and pulled him close.

The sound of Rodimus’ idling engines enveloped them, practically purring in contentment under his flame-coloured chassis.

“You two are insufferable,” Ratchet gruffed, but the affection in his tone betrayed him when the white speedster pressed his lips to the back of his helm in one last kiss, humming softly.

“We love you too, Ratty.”

Ratchet didn’t realize he’d been smiling until his cheeks began to ache.


End file.
